Once the Thunder Dao Treasure Art was mastered, Little Rascal’s entire demeanor took on an edge of sharpness. The lightning within him was tyrannical and fierce, embodying the pinnacle of strength and yang energy, nurturing a unique aura within his body. Of course, this was merely one of his many treasure arts and did not alter his true temperament—only his bright eyes now carried an added layer of determination. His raven-black hair cascaded freely as he refined two supreme treasure arts, which could be said to have evolved and transcended his original divine abilities, making them even more formidable and potent.
The potency of the Monkey Wine was overwhelming. Streaks of radiant light surged across Mu Yan’s body, his bones crackling as his flesh pulsed, regenerating blood and bones in a process of reconstruction. Once on the brink of death, he had been pulled back by the divine brew concocted from dozens of spiritual herbs—its effects were tyrannical and intense, mending tendons and regrowing bones. After a full day and night of seated meditation, diligently circulating his runes, Mu Yan finally recovered, his body now free of major ailments. Surviving such grievous injuries was nothing short of a miracle.
“Truly remarkable. To have the fortune of tasting the legendary Monkey Wine—it brings this old man immense joy,” Mu Yan laughed heartily.
Little Rascal was deeply moved. Though Thunder Ancestor had a fiery temper and had subjected him to hellish training over the past month—seemingly harsh—he was genuinely kind-hearted, having nearly died for his sake.
“Excellent,” Elder Liu nodded in approval upon their return to the Heaven Mending Pavilion, his face alight with joy.
“What kind of place is the Ancient Sacred Academy? Can I enter?” Little Rascal inquired.
The two elders sighed in unison, shaking their heads.
“It is a minor realm, passed down since antiquity, opening only once every century. It contains the insights and imprints of sages.”
“Unlike the Hundred Shattered Peaks, the Sacred Academy opens only for one or a select few.”
Both were filled with regret. Had Shi Yi not been a prodigy beyond their expectations, forcibly stepping into the academy, they would have done everything to send Little Rascal in. Now that it had closed, it was too late. There was no fixed schedule for its reopening—even if the Heaven Mending Pavilion ceased to exist, the Ancient Sacred Academy would remain unaffected, only reappearing when the time was right.
“Within its halls, one may gain the insights of predecessors, obtaining great fortune. But gains come with losses—avoiding some detours means missing out on the tempering of body and spirit, a crucial part of cultivation.”
“Is that so? Then I shall forge my own path in this mortal world, step by step,” Little Rascal nodded.
In the following days, he immersed himself in studying treasure arts, poring over bone scriptures, and reciting sutures daily to consolidate his progress over the past six months. His vitality grew ever stronger.
“What’s gotten into him? Before, he’d never sit still—always running off to cause trouble,” the Crimson Bird muttered.
“Now he spends all day reciting scriptures, sitting motionless like those old monks from the Western Paradise,” Second Baldy sighed.
“Zap!”
A bolt of lightning struck, sending the two into convulsions as smoke rose from their charred forms.
“How can his ears be so sharp? He heard us from so far away!” they grumbled indignantly.
With his mastery of thunder techniques, Little Rascal’s power had skyrocketed, now ranking among the top-tier treasure arts. In battle, he was even more terrifying.
“Junior Brother, we have a situation,” a senior brother reported one day.
“What is it?” Little Rascal opened his eyes and stood.
“Recently, figures have been lurking outside the mountain gates. We caught one—a member of the Kun Clan, here for you!”
Little Rascal frowned. The Li, Yuan, Kun, and Meng Clans had clashed with him in the Void God Realm and sought revenge in the Hundred Shattered Peaks, only to be annihilated. Now they were back—truly relentless.
“Don’t worry, Junior Brother. The Heaven Mending Pavilion stands united. If trouble arises, we’ll all step in. If it escalates, even the elders won’t stand idly by,” a group of senior brothers assured him.
“Thank you, Senior Brothers,” Little Rascal said gratefully.
“What are we waiting for? Let’s charge out and show them the might of the Heaven Mending Pavilion!” the Crimson Bird snarled, forgetting it wasn’t even a disciple here.
“First, we gather intel. Let’s see who’s out there,” Little Rascal said, sending the Crimson Bird to scout—its natural speed made it perfect for reconnaissance.
Soon, the elusive bird returned with news: a diverse mix of factions lurked beyond the gates.
Little Rascal’s frown deepened. The situation was dire—this was clearly a coordinated move against the Heaven Mending Pavilion, with spies gathering intelligence.
“The Li, Yuan, Kun, and Meng Clans are all here, seeking vengeance for the slaughter in the Hundred Shattered Peaks,” the Crimson Bird reported.
“Inform the elders first, then we act,” a senior brother suggested.
The four clans had sent dozens, but the Heaven Mending Pavilion’s disciples could handle them. Still, to be safe, they reported to their seniors.
“I’ll gather reinforcements,” Senior Brother Wu Feng said. Soon, hundreds arrived—talented disciples, ordinary students, and even disciples of the elders who had yet to depart.
Little Rascal was astonished. The unity of the Heaven Mending Pavilion was unparalleled—a single call had summoned such numbers. Had the full force remained, thousands would have rallied.
“Thank you, Senior Brothers and Sisters,” he expressed his gratitude.
“Fierce Junior Brother, no need for thanks. No disciple of the Heaven Mending Pavilion shall be bullied. Those who dare lurk outside our gates with ill intent shall pay!”
“Indeed. If any other junior brother were targeted, we’d do the same.”
Little Rascal gazed at the senior brothers and sisters—some in their twenties, others closer to his age—and for the first time, he felt the true meaning of belonging to a sect. Though fearless, the warmth of their protection moved him deeply.
“Let’s go teach them a lesson! Who dares provoke the Heaven Mending Pavilion and threaten our junior brother? We’ll sweep them clean!”
The group surged forth like a tide of tigers and wolves, their runes lighting up the sky as they charged toward the four clans’ hideouts.
Outside the gates, amidst verdant hills and flowing streams—once meticulously tended herb gardens now lay neglected.
The four clans were stunned. The sudden onslaught sent them scrambling to counterattack before fleeing in disarray. After all, this was the Heaven Mending Pavilion—provoking them further would be disastrous. Their true goal was to probe the sect’s defenses, as rumors swirled of impending upheaval in this ancient sanctuary, attracting covetous eyes from powerful clans.
“Boom!”
Little Rascal unleashed a lightning strike, reducing a dozen foes to charred husks.
“You dare show your face, brat!” a middle-aged man roared, enraged as his kin lay among the dead. He charged forth—a true expert, capable of suppressing most youths.
“Whoever dares trespass upon the Heaven Mending Pavilion shall perish!” a senior brother declared, soaring into the air. A blaze of runes erupted, colliding with the attacker.
With a deafening crash, the middle-aged man was sent flying, blood spraying before his body exploded midair, reduced to ash.
“It’s Senior Brother Lin Mu! He’s still here!” the disciples exclaimed in delight.
A formidable genius who had trained for over a decade, Lin Mu commanded immense respect and admiration.
“You brats go too far! The Heaven Mending Pavilion is on its last legs—how dare you act so arrogantly? Die!”
Three elders emerged, launching a coordinated assault—one targeting Little Rascal, another Lin Mu, and the third attacking key disciples.
Hidden among the crowd, these experts struck with terrifying precision.
“Even in decline, the Heaven Mending Pavilion tolerates no insolence!”
Elders of the sect materialized, intercepting the attackers. The disciples had not acted recklessly—they had informed the sect beforehand, ensuring preparations were made.
In mere moments, the sky was awash with runes before blood rained down—the four clans’ elders were slain, no match for the Heaven Mending Pavilion’s veterans.
“Kill!”
Hundreds of disciples advanced, encircling and suppressing the remnants.
Finally, Thunder Ancestor Mu Yan himself appeared, pursuing the fleeing enemies. A single thunderclap unleashed dozens of lightning strikes, obliterating the landscape and reducing the escapees to ashes.
“Those who dare oppose the Heaven Mending Pavilion shall perish!” he thundered, lightning wreathing his form, his voice shaking the heavens.
Hidden observers recoiled in fear, retreating hastily. Though the Heaven Mending Pavilion was no longer at its peak, it remained a force not to be trifled with.
Little Rascal’s heart swelled with warmth and excitement—this was the unity of a sect, the sense of belonging.
“I didn’t even get to shine,” the Crimson Bird grumbled, having failed to loot any treasures.
The battle was swift, ending almost as soon as it began.
Days passed, and the sect’s disciples dwindled further. Even talents like Xiao Tian and Yan Xin were eventually sent away. With thousands of ordinary disciples, the sect decided to return them to their tribes, though those unwilling could stay for gradual relocation.
Partings were sorrowful—some farewells were eternal.
Little Rascal bid goodbye to batch after batch of senior brothers and sisters, each pinching his cheeks before leaving, urging him to cultivate diligently and one day stand atop the world, surpassing even the Sacred Guardian.
“With your ferocity at such a young age, we have high hopes for you. Strive on!”
Familiar and unfamiliar faces alike placed their faith in him, remaining optimistic even as calamity loomed.
Little Rascal and Qing Feng were also slated for departure, as time was running out—the Sacred Guardian’s leaves had begun to yellow, its strength waning.
Yet, just before they left, Mu Yan and Elder Liu received unsettling news, halting their plans.
Two days later, devastating tidings arrived. The Pavilion Master spat blood, howling in grief. Mu Yan, wreathed in lightning, uprooted a spiritual mountain, roaring like an enraged lion. Even the perpetually drowsy Elder Liu erupted in fury, coughing blood in his rage.
The sect’s higher-ups were in uproar, their fury uncontrollable.
Word had come—three of the seven secret outposts established over centuries had been annihilated, their elite disciples and experts slaughtered. The loss was catastrophic, a blow to centuries of preparation.
“Is heaven determined to destroy the Heaven Mending Pavilion?” an elder wailed, tears of blood streaming down his face.
Little Rascal was stunned, then overwhelmed with grief. The senior brothers and sisters he had just bid farewell to were now gone forever.
He recalled their drunken farewell—their vows to rebuild the sacred land. How fleeting those moments now seemed.
Many he hadn’t even known had fought alongside him against the four clans, filling him with warmth and a sense of home. Now, they were lost.
He touched his cheeks, still feeling the pinch of their encouragement—hopes entrusted to him, now severed by death.
With three outposts destroyed, nearly half of the relocated disciples had perished. The remaining four sanctuaries might not be safe either.
The sect was steeped in sorrow.
“As long as a single spark remains, it can ignite a prairie fire,” a sigh echoed from the depths of the sacred land, where the Sacred Guardian resided.
The Divine Vine stirred, its emerald radiance piercing the heavens. Its voice was calm, devoid of emotion, yet carried an undercurrent of desolation.
“I have decided to leave behind a divine seed, to guard the reborn Heaven Mending Pavilion in the future.”
“Sacred Guardian!” The disciples wailed in anguish—its fate was sealed, its revival impossible.
“Guide us, Sacred Guardian!” many pleaded.
“Fight your way out! As long as one survives, the Heaven Mending Pavilion shall never fall. One day, it shall rise from the ashes!”
Having endured since antiquity, the Sacred Guardian had paid dearly to protect this land. Now, it uprooted itself, its divine chains of order weaving across the sky.
“The battle begins. My enemies approach!”
In the distance, terrifying auras surged. Divine halos enveloped the heavens as supreme beings gazed down upon the earth, golden paths unfurling from tens of thousands of miles away, as if descending from the celestial realm.
Countless figures surrounded the sect—humans and other beings alike—all eager to carve up its remains.
“Go! Fight your way out! As long as one lives, the Heaven Mending Pavilion endures!” the elders roared, tears brimming in their aged eyes.
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